


Die Unbelievers

by MyceliumMythos



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyceliumMythos/pseuds/MyceliumMythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's more important to you?  Me or petty vengeance?"</p><p>Moash came to kill the king.  He wasn't expecting this.  Rewrite/divergence from events near the end of "Words of Radiance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die Unbelievers

Moash thought he was willing to do whatever it took to get revenge.  Abandon his old life to join the army.  Run through Damnation and back every day just to survive a little longer.  Conspire with a secretive, anarchist organization, turn his back on the rulers of his kingdom, and become an active participant in the assassination of the king.  Moash had done all that and felt justified in it, even.  To kill a tyrant was no crime, after all.  It was the act of a hero. 

After all that, Moash thought he could do anything without batting an eye.

But this?

There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else anywhere near the king’s chambers, the day of Elhokar’s assassination.  No servants, no members of the King’s Guard, and especially no one else of Bridge Four, so when he and Graves found their two planted guards dead on the floor, it was enough to jolt Moash out of the complacency he felt in their ability to carry out their plan. 

As they hurried down the corridor to try to track down their quarry, the possibilities of what could have gone wrong passed through his head.  Had the real guards randomly checked in and slain the impostors?  Had assassins acting on behalf of another highprince cut in front of their plans?  By some far-flung chance, had the king’s paranoia outdone his feelings of inadequacy, leading him to fake his drunken stupor and escape on his own?

Whatever the case, it was still meant to be two full Shardbearers against a fool, or whoever had been vaguely competent enough to kill or rescue the fool.  Moash thought he should have been able to handle it.

He was more than alarmed to reach the end of the trail from the king’s chambers only to find there Kaladin, bloody, exhausted, and almost literally without a leg to stand.  He looked halfway towards Damnation himself, but he still leaned on his spear in his best adaptation of a defensive stance in front of the king.

“Kal?” Moash asked, both his voice and veneer of confidence cracking.  He was shaken inside when he looked into Kaladin’s eyes and the sheer determination therein—determination that stated, _Not even you will pass me._

Moash had planned for a lot of things. 

But this?

Without even summoning his Shardblade, Moash was already suddenly fighting two battles.  For all his readiness to kill, he had to make sure only one person—the tyrant who deserved a thousand times worse—died here today. 

Kaladin is trustworthy, he told Graves.  He’s just a little confused.  Would you look at him, he’s injured.  He can’t and won’t stop us.

That was enough to hold back the other Shardbearer and his eager blade for a moment.  Kaladin was another story.

Moash tried reasoning with him.

“The man’s half-dead already!  You could just as well leave him here and he’d be dead soon enough.”

He tried reminding him of why they were doing this.

“He murdered my parents.  That sorry excuse for a king killed the only family I ever had, and if he keeps ruling, he’ll keep on murdering and letting others murderers roam free because of the color of their eyes!”

He tried pleading with him.

“Please Kal, step aside,” Moash said, looking to him imploringly.  “I know you won’t just let him die, but you’ve already tried to stop us.  What will you just getting yourself more hurt accomplish if he’s still dead at the end of the day?”

He took a single step towards Kaladin and the king, steeling his expression and making his intention clear.

“I mean it, Kal,” he growled.

But Kaladin didn’t give an inch to any of Moash’s strategies.  He rebuffed each of them; speaking more of honor and the way things should be, and doing so only seemed to strengthen his constitution.  Moash only cursed himself as he heard Kaladin’s words.  Nonsense as it was to speak of honor when defending a man such as Elhokar, he couldn’t fault Kaladin for his convictions, not when his refusal to back down or go back on his word was part of what Moash fall for him in the first place.

And when Kaladin aimed the tip of his trembling spear threateningly at Moash’s heart and demanded, “Which is more important to you?  Me, or petty vengeance?” Moash felt his own convictions falter.

“I’m doing this for _you_ , you storming fool!” Moash shouted, trying to allow the anger and impulse that guided much of his life overtake him in the moment.  “You already freed me, and now I’m trying to free you!  You’re so much more than bowing and scraping before a cruel, drunken idiot!  You’re not meant to serve a man who steals families and pardons criminals.  You’re as powerful as the wind itself.  You could have anything you wanted; you could have the world and I’m trying to give it to you if you’d just _stop_ fighting me!”

Moash poured out his soul to the man, not caring what Graves heard or thought of him for it.  He needed Kal to understand that this wasn’t just the act of a petty, short-sighted man.  This was for both of them—for their _future_.

However, even for seeing Moash nearly pushed to hysteria, Kaladin remained cool, merely replying, “I don’t want the world, Moash.  I’m fine with what’s in front of me.”

Moash balked, unsure of how to proceed.  He had thought he was ready for anything.

But this?

Either sensing Moash’s uncertainty or feeling further pressed in the situation, Graves hefted the Shardblade off his shoulder and made a move forwards, but Moash held him back, keeping his eyes trained on Kaladin.  He couldn’t make it seem like this was out of hand.  This had been his decision, and he couldn’t let Kal get killed because of it.

“Sorry, Kal,” Moash said, trying to regain his composure and clenching his gauntleted fist.  “It’s too late.”

“You won’t have him.  I won’t back down,” Kaladin said, his labored voice already making Moash regret what he was about to do.

“I guess I wouldn’t want you to,” Moash said.  He tore his helm away and tossed it to the side.  If he was going to fight Kaladin, he wasn’t going to do it hiding behind a visor.

Kaladin struck forward with his spear, but the weak blow merely glanced off Moash’s breastplate.  Moash slapped the spear away, the wood shattering as he did so. 

Without the weapon he had been using as a crutch, Kaladin stumbled forward, nearly falling, but it wasn’t enough.  Moash had seen him come back from too many near deaths to be able to count him down from that.  He aimed a single blow into Kaladin’s gut and watched as his former bridgeleader crumpled to the floor.

Moash wasn’t sure what was worse, feeling the ribs he had struck snap like twigs or the guilt over reducing Kaladin—once so strong, seemingly infallible—to a trembling mess, gasping for breath. 

 _I had to do it,_ he tried to console himself.  _He wouldn’t get out of the way otherwise._  

But it didn’t help his guilt when this moment only served to remind him of the day he and Kaladin had met, and how their roles had been reversed.  On that day, Kal had singled him out to make an example out of him.  The cocky, newly-made bridgeleader had punched him in the gut and dragged him out of their hut to show the rest of Bridge Four that he was in charge, and that he was going to drag them—just like he had dragged Moash—into a new age.

That should have made him feel better.  If Kal had been right then about his action being for the good of all, even if it seemed unpleasant, then why couldn’t Moash be right now?  Moash had even spent weeks telling him to storm off, mocking his efforts, second-guessing his commands until finally seeing him for how right he was.  So why did Moash still feel so uncertain?  Why didn’t this feel right?

He stared down at his fist, quietly muttering, “Storms…I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.”

“You did what you had to.”  Grave’s consolation sounded hollow, meaningless to him.  “You’ve done enough to get us to this point.  Now, go ahead and cut away those boards there to make it look like the Assassin in White came through again.  I’ll do away with these two.”

Moash started and spun on him, his eyes widening in shock.  “What in Damnation—do you mean Kal too?”

“Of course.”  Hidden behind his faceplate, Graves seemed in that moment just as inhuman as his words suggested him to be.  “When the king dies, he will be the only one who knows the truth of who killed him.  You saw how he acted today.  He will not keep this secret.”

“He will!” Moash insisted.  “Kal wouldn’t betray me.  Even if he doesn’t agree with me now, he wouldn’t turn me in.”

“Oh please,” Graves snorted.  “You actually believe that?”

He did.  For no one else in the world he would say the same, but Kaladin—

For Kaladin, he would—

_“I will protect you with my life.”_

Moash remembered his own oath, the one he had made when Kaladin approached him in the canyons during spear practice.  Back when they were still slaves, but already at the point when Moash had begun to see no other master in his life but the man who had pulled him from Damnation, put a spear in his hands, and made him strong again.  Moash had sworn to protect that man

“You can still kill the king,” Moash said.  “You can kill him quickly or make him suffer.  You can take his throne or all his treasure.  You can set fire to the whole storming palace and watch it burn for all I care.  But I swear, the only way there’ll be two dead in this corridor is if you take one more step towards him.”

He couldn’t see Graves’s expression, but based on the way he tipped up his chin, Moash could tell he was sneering at him.  “Do you really think this will end well for you?” he asked.  “Or do you _know_ you’ve just raised the number of casualties to three?”

Graves lunged forward, swinging his Shardblade.  Moash had already begun to summon his, but even with his heart pounding as it was, he was two heartbeats behind.  He cursed himself for not already having summoned his blade to try to resolve the situation with Kaladin peacefully.  He cursed himself for having abandoned his helm because he wanted to face Kaladin more evenly.  He cursed himself for coming within an inch of the vengeance he dreamt of half his life only to throw it away at the last second.

And for what?  One man?

As the blade swung down, Moash thought on how there were so many things he had believed would keep him his goal.  There were things 10,000 times more likely to have kept him from killing King Elhokar, and each of them, he had been willing to face and fall to.

But this?

Well…when Moash thought about it, this was perhaps the only worthwhile reason to fail.

All the light fled from the corridor and Moash felt himself knocked to the ground.  He scrambled backwards in the darkness as he heard Graves’s sword swinging through empty air, through the stone of the floor.  He briefly worried that he had swung straight through Kaladin, who had been lying behind him.

Then, all the light returned in a single blindingly bright fixed point.  Every shuttered window burst open under the force of massive winds.  The corridor began to fill with frost, and when Moash was finally able to see again, he saw Kaladin, not only restored, but glowing more brilliantly than ever, and holding a pale blue Shardblade.

Before him, Graves’s Shardblade looked dull.  The Shardbearer screamed. 

Moash could only stare at him in awe.

“The Knights Radiant,” Kaladin said softly, “have returned.”

Graves looked on in horror for a moment longer before a manic grin cracked his face.  Then he ran down the corridor, the clinking of his Shardplate and his mad laughter melding with the cacophony of the storm winds as he fled.

Kaladin let out a breath, and with it, a frosty puff of Stormlight.  Then he turned to look down at Moash.

“Kal,” he gasped.  “Kaladin, I—”  He scrambled to kneel, feeling inadequate as a jumbled mess of Shardplate on the ground.  “Storms, I—you—I always knew, but—” 

Words eluded him.  Moash fumbled to be able to express even a fraction of what he felt, the awe, the respect, the relief, the fear, but what caught his throat overwhelmingly was the regret.  Staring at Kaladin now was like staring at the sun.  The light only served to illuminate all his flaws and Moash couldn’t look away.  Tears formed in his eyes.

“I’m sorry Kal,” Moash said in a sob.  “I’m sorry.  I just wanted to give you the world.  I’ve ruined everything now, haven’t I?”

Kaladin stepped towards him, his gait now graceful and unfaltering.  Noticing again the ethereal Shardblade in his hand and the unreadable expression on his face, Moash closed his eyes and braced himself.  To be slain by the hand of a Radiant was more than he deserved after what he had done today.

But when he felt a glow of warmth before him, Moash looked and found Kal kneeling as well, his blade dismissed and a small smile on his face.

“I don’t want the world, Moash,” he repeated gently.  “I’m fine with what’s in front of me.” 

And as Kaladin grasped Moash’s face and leaned in to finally return the kiss Moash had given him days ago, the words finally made sense.

Moash wasn’t sure what would make sense to him after that moment.  He wasn’t sure if he would know why Kaladin glowed so brilliantly.  He wasn’t sure if he would know why Kaladin fought so hard to protect the unworthy.  He wasn’t sure if he would understand any of these circumstances he had fallen into, or how everything had changed so abruptly.

But this?

This was love.

He understood this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't resist redoing this scene either. Bonus points in that I'll probably be working on original scenes from here on out, seeing how these two deal with the fallout and such. Yay.


End file.
